


To My "Compatriots"

by Corvid_Knight, JewJitsue, Michael Stonožka (JewJitsue)



Series: Demonstuck [31]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Backstory, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewJitsue/pseuds/JewJitsue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewJitsue/pseuds/Michael%20Stono%C5%BEka
Summary: Daniel Strider, one of the most well known hunters in the Louisiana purchase, gets word of a hunter union criticizing him for not killing every monster he sees in their magazine. This is his response.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a twunk sends and angry letter so some racists and therefore causes his great grandchildren to discover just how big a slut mothman truly is

_**To the Editor** _

April 13, 1843

Sir:-

        It is doubtless that you are and were fully aware to the likelihood of my seeing your unfounded criticisms of me and my compatriots- In that regard, I am forced to show my admiration for your gall. However that does not mean that I will tolerate the impudent assumptions of both you and your organization. 

        I have long voiced my disdain toward the zero-tolerance strategies of the HDB and its associated privateers and mercenaries, both publicly and privately, for it is very clear to me from my nearly 47 years working as a Hunter that the same principles of legal fairness, as enshrined within the constitution of our great nation, should and do apply to those who are not sons of Adam.

        Just as well, there is in my opinion no substantial reason to consider the “monsters” -as you insist on calling them- at all different from mankind. I have observed on many occasions, thanks to my lover whom you have not spared from your bigoted sputtering, countless examples not only of said Monsters being able to live in harmony with other humans, but also to use the mutations and imperfections which you demonize to exact justice on far more pressing worldly evils, which you so pointedly ignore. 

        To conclude, it is very clear to anyone who looks that our LORD placed himself within every creature, and that it is not the job of man to deny salvation to any of His children.

With whatever respect may be due, -Daniel Strider-García


	2. Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Goes with Grey and D to clear out a storage place, and they make 2 unexpected discoveries.

**John**

 

When Grey told you he needed help clearing out an old storage unit, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited. Just something about going through other people’s (preferable old) stuff that makes you feel giddy. Wait, no, fuck, that's weird. You don’t mean it in a creepy way it’s just that, like, uh… Oh you give up.

Whatever the case, and whatever the motivation for asking to come along, you were Not expecting what you came to. You were expecting blocks of grey, sheet metal buildings with thin garage doors, but what the van pulled up to was what seemed to be an old, ornate library. Or something. You dunno.

“Who’re the folks with you?” asked the woman at the desk just inside the door, just after looking over Grey’s “temporary clearance” badge and deciding he belonged there. It was weird, normally when you think of monsters gathering places you imagine like, abandoned hospitals or mildew-ridden caves, places discarded by the world and recycled by people who needed them more. But this place was clearly built for the purpose it was being used for. It was nestled in some remote bog in Louisiana, nearly half and hour off the beaten path. The main lobby was a circular room, flanked by 3 levels of balconies leading into vast floors of shelves and cases. In the middle of the marble floor was a round desk, attended only by a grey-haired woman. A small red flag was standing just next to where she was working, inscribed in the middle with an image of a machete being dashed by a hammer.

“Good friends of mine. You can trust them.” Grey said back, the banter of familiarity in his voice.

The woman was clearly less swayed by this and Grey was hoping. “Sorry, love.” She pushed her glasses up her face, giving them her full attention. “You don’t have that kind of authority anymore. By your request, I might add.”

Grey lent over the desk and argued with her for a moment, an argument you don't hear most of because you damn ears don’t work. Something about owing a favor. It’s not like you have any reason to care, because after looking you, D, and Dave up and down one last time she lets you pass. She stares at you in an inhumanly… direct way the whole time, but she lets you pass. Damn, it felt like she was trying to read your mind or something. You wonder how she did that.

Wait. Fuck, yeah, the place is run by monsters. You’re just gonna stop talking.

* * *

 

Normally you love the smell of old paper, but holy _fuck_ this is too much. Having clouds of dust and mold blow into you face from draws that haven’t been opened in 50 years is not how you were hoping to spend the afternoon.

“I told you this stuff would be old.” Grey said over your coughing. “This place has been around longer than y’all have.”

“Yeah, well that warning might have been more useful if I knew how long the striders have been around.”

D looked up from the crumbling booklet he was skimming. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. He and Grey were sitting on opposite sides of the thin pathway between the metal shelves, going through a box of papers while you and Dave snoop through the rest of what Grey’s been permitted to access.

“Your family.” Grey answered flatly. “The Striders have been hunting since the 1840’s.”

You hear Dave chuckle from the other side of the shelf. “How do you know that?” He asked. “Are we that famous?”

Grey goes still. “Well, I uh,” He stammered. “I’ve been around.”

D cocks his head as you return your attention to the drawer you just opened. You may be dense, but you can sense a confusing revelation coming.

“I may have had some...” Grey was continuing to say as you kept sifting through the drawer. “...less than satisfying relations with one of your elders.”

“What?” D said, clearly getting upset.

The drawer you’re going through is mostly just paperwork that was _definitely_ stolen in some type of raid, judging by the burnt edges of some of the folders. Most of its branded with ‘Human Defence Brigade’ at the top. You know you have a bad memory, but wasn’t that name in the files Hal stole from the place davesprite was hatched? You’ll have to ask later.

As you’re parting the stacks of papers something catches your eye.

“We met on official business and it just kind of… went wrong, unfortunately.”

“‘Went wrong’?” D phrased the question like an accusation. Wow, this is the closest you’ve ever seen him be to angry at Grey.

Grey sighed, giving up what little dignity he had left. “He was married.”

You bite your lip and deliberately turn your head away from the two of them as you pull the object from where it had evidently been wedged for decades. It was an envelope, an old as hell one at that, if the red wax-stained circle at the end of the flap was anything to go off of.

D’s covered his mouth with his hands, relieved to find out his lover did not murder one of his ancestors. “So you’re a homewrecker.” He said, sending Grey into a fit of exasperated sputtering. “I’ve been dating a homewrecker.”

You turn the envelope over to try and read the address. The ink is faded and its written in cursive, but you think you can make it out:

 

**_Dorian Manning_ **

**_Editor, Hunter Monthly_ **

**_108 South Cobbler St._ **

**_New Orleans, Louisiana_ **

 

‘Hunter monthly? Why the hell would a monster-run paramilitary group want letters sent to hunting magazines? What would this even be about, someone complaining that the deer saw them even though the were wearing camo pants?

God **fucking** dammit. Not a hunter magazine, a _Hunter_ magazine. Wait, why would that even exist? Who the hell sent this?

D was starting to laugh. “Let me get this straight, you had an affair with somebody who was probably my great grandfather, got caught, and avoided us like the plague? Only to match with me on a shitty dating app two hundred years later?”

Grey was nervously chuckling along, trying not to upset D again.

Fuck, the ink on the return address is even more rubbed off.

“What was his name?” D asked.

“Oh, damn, isn’t that always the question.” Grey said, leaning back. “I’m bad with names.”

“Why?” Dave piped up without suddenly, breaking his mysterious and totally unrelated silence. “Too many to count?”

You look back down, ignoring the shoe that just flew over the shelf.

“It started with a D” Grey continued.

“Real helpful, babe.” D laughed.

“Shut up, I’m thinking… No, it wasn’t David. Was it… no, definitely not Dylan. Fuck, its on the tip of my tongue.”

“I’m sure he was!” Dave called.

“Oh come _on!_ That one doesn't even make any sense!” Grey yelled back, D pulling his other shoe away from him as you barely contain a guffaw.

“It was… Fuck, it was…” Grey said to no one in particular.

“Daniel?” You say, finally figuring out the return address.

 

**_Daniel Strider-García_ **

**_362 Harvest Rd._ **

**_Houston, Texas_ **

 

“...Yeah! Yeah that was it!” Grey said, his face lighting up. “How did you know that?”

You open the flap and pull the delicate paper out, reading the date.

“‘Cause in 1843, he sent somebody a letter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i wrote this in one go at 11pm and haven't proofread it that much so please forgive me. 
> 
> in case you're wondering what this is about grey not having access to anything, that'll get explained in his other fic CK's writing
> 
> ma or may not continue this. all i know is that right now i can barely keep my eyes open lol. if there are any outstanding issues feel free to point them out


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Grey wasn't totally honest about why he when to the Archives

You get back long after dark. The only light in the kitchen is that of the fanlight over the kitchen table, long shadows from it stretching across the room. You and Grey are separated by the 4 cardboard crates of ancient paperwork salvaged from the Archive, each of your respective spaces strewn with yellowing sheets, none of which are dated after 1945. You know you said you’d help Grey finish this up, but damn are you achy. 

Not that you mind, you guess. 

Grey suddenly drops the packet he was inspecting, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. “You don’t have to stay up with me, love. I can take care of the rest of all this.” His voice is thick with fatigue and resignation. You hate that.

“You know I’m not gonna do that.” You reply. “Plus you’re in worse shape than me anyway.”

He lowers his hands a bit to look at you. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been super anxious all day. Hell, the past few days even. Somethings fuckin’ you up.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“My first born’s an empath, I know ways.”

“‘Firstborn’? What does that even- D, I’m fine. Just, go to sleep. I’ll finish this up.”

He starts pulling the stuff on your side of the table toward him, but you grab his hand. 

“Babe.” You say, meeting his eyes. “Do you really expect me to believe that this is all about ‘Clearing out the unit’?” You gesture to the boxes of papers you salvaged from the marble library.

“It’s not-,” He starts, you stop him.

“Grey. You said yourself that you wanted nothing to do with Union anymore. I know you, you wouldn’t go back on something like that.” You feel his hand try to ball up under your hold. “You wouldn’t go through with something like this unless you had a really good reason to.”

He sighs, eyes shifting down to the table as he laces his fingers with yours.

“It’s… about Davepeta.”

“How so?”

He reaches up and rubs his eyes with his other hand. “It’s just- I’ve… never seen anything like them. I mean, they were created through screwy necromancy but, also through… normal science. Genetic Splicing specifically.” He pauses, breathing deeply. “There’s only one group of fuck-ups capable of that kind of stuff.”

_ Oh _ . “Grey, you burned the place down yourself. Plus, you said yourself it was probably a fluke that they found Davesprite in the first place. They can’t hurt us anymore-”

“That's not what I mean.” He grips your hand tighter.

“What?”

“I’m… not worried about them coming here. I could take them.” He sniffs a bit, looking back up. “It’s just that, if they’re trying to make weapons, or soldiers even, with magic, then they might be trying to… prepare something.” He looks down. “Something they can’t recruit for.”

_ Oh. Fuck _ .

“I’m afraid they’re getting desperate. And-” 

That’s as far as he gets before he buries his face in his hands, muffling his wet sobs. Instantly you’re standing beside him, pulling his head into the crook of your neck, cooing softly as you rock him back and forth. You ignore the growing wet patch on your shirt as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling himself into your embrace. His breathing eventually evens out as you whisper assurances into his ear.

After a few minutes, he pulls away, eyes red and face wet. “I had, I hoped,” He stammered. “That I could find some kind of lead in their old paperwork.” He sat back, rubbing his eyes again “They’ve gotten… desperate before. And I-, I don’t want to see that again.”

You reach out and take his hand again. “Grey,” your voice is soft. “You said yourself the HDB was in decline by the time you left. They’re probably just trying to salvage their influence or something. Union can take them.”

He sighs again. “I- I know. I don’t know why I’m so worried.”

“It’s probably because they kidnapped one of our kids, babe.”

He chuckles weakly at that. “Wanna help me clean this stuff up?”

“Of course.” 

You both spend a few minutes getting the messy stacks of paper in order and back in the boxes, before moving them under the table for lack of a better place to put them.

You have to ask. “Should we talk to the kids about any of that?”

“There’s not enough to go off of right now to say for sure it’ll be a problem.” He says after a moment. “Dirk needs the sleep anyway.”

That gets a laugh out of you. “Damn right.”

You let him lead you into the dark hallway, shutting off the overhead as you leave the room and walk with him to bed.

_ Everything’s gonna be ok. _ You think. You ignore the part of your subconscious that tacks a “hopefully” to the end of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO FINALLY FINISHED THIS DAMN THING

**Author's Note:**

> short backstory:  
> daniel strider was the first strider to become a hunter, after getting into a bar fight with a werewolf (who he then married)
> 
> HDB = Human Defense Brigade, union of racist hunters who big into manifest destiny.
> 
> daniel never signed his name as 'strider-garcia' as he does here, the only reason he did it here was because hes a petty bastard (his werewolf husband was named Diego Garcia)
> 
> i wrote this in a half hour dont judge me


End file.
